


On the Eve of Mother's Day

by Scrumptious_Bastard



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale's smile is everything, Blossoming relationship, Developing Relationship, Ficlet, Language of Flowers, M/M, Mother's Day, Mutual Pining, Prompt Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-10
Updated: 2020-05-10
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:41:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24103057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scrumptious_Bastard/pseuds/Scrumptious_Bastard
Summary: Aziraphale has a hand in the first Mother's Day dedication, and Crowley lurks.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 22
Kudos: 34





	On the Eve of Mother's Day

**Author's Note:**

  * For [IneffableAlien](https://archiveofourown.org/users/IneffableAlien/gifts).



> for a prompt by IneffableAlien: Crowley and Aziraphale celebrate Mother's Day. You figure out why.

[Saturday evening, the 9th of May, 1908]

“Crowley?”

Aziraphale thought he felt his presence, but it couldn’t be. He hadn’t seen him in decades, and he was halfway around the globe from where they last met. He was seeing ghosts from the past - hoping Crowley would come around like he always did. _Absolutely foolish_ , he admonished himself for the thought. Crowley had plenty of others to fraternize with. 

He focused back on the task at hand. Ms. Anna Jarvis was planning a grand gesture to honor her dear late mother and, in turn, all mothers. 500 white carnations were to be delivered to her home church in West Virginia. Everything was going smoothly at Ms. Jarvis’ home in Philadelphia. She seemed to be a marvel of organization, so all Aziraphale had to do was stand back and let her work. He left to oversee the arrival of the flowers at the church.

* * *

Crowley’s breath hitched when he saw the familiar silhouette in the crowd. _Shit, he can’t see me here_ , he thought, and ducked into an alley. Distantly he thought he heard his name softly spoken, and the tone in that whispered name sparked an unwelcome hope Crowley quickly snuffed out. He couldn’t hope for things to go back to the way they were before the misunderstanding. It wasn’t the right time. So he lurked and watched from the shadows.

That’s what his kind did, right? Lurk and foment discord.

He was on assignment to make sure Henry Ford got his assembly line finished in time. Mass produced pollution at affordable prices. And if he got a new automobile out of it, all the better.

But it could wait. Humans did just fine on their own usually.

He followed Aziraphale to West Virginia.

* * *

Aziraphale stood in the vestibule of Andrews Methodist Episcopal Church and drank in the sight before him - a cloud of white carnations surrounded the pulpit on tables and cascaded to the floor. It was ethereal and he glowed with reverence as he thought back five thousand years to the first flowers he saw used as decoration.

Eve was pregnant with the first child born on Earth, and she sat under the tree of knowledge plaiting her hair. She placed fallen apple blossoms into her plait while she sang to her unborn child.

* * *

 _Angel_.

Crowley watched Aziraphale through the stained glass of the church. The angel radiated with love, and Crowley basked in it. He savored the expression on his face, pocketed it away for lean times, and wondered what he could do to garner that look of affection.

* * *

[The first Mother’s Day following Armageddon’t]

“My dear, what on earth?”

The pair entered the bookshop, having procured all of Aziraphale’s favorite pastries at the local bakery, and were greeted by hundreds of apple tree cuttings in vases on every flat surface. 

“Angel, do you remember the first Mother’s Day?”

“Well of course I do, I was ther-- how do you know about it?”

Crowley gave him a smirk and sauntered into the bookshop to set down the pastries.

“I was there, too. And I thought, ugh, carnations… how pedestrian. If I gave those to you, you’d give me a little sigh and a _Thank you, dear, how thoughtful, dear,_ ” Crowley continued.

“But the way you looked at the arrangement of carnations was something I remembered all these years. I wanted to recreate that feeling for you, but I wanted to make it my own. So, I got you apple blossoms. The cuttings can be replanted, too. And if you go in for the whole _Language of Flowers_ thing… they mean ‘better things ahead’ and ‘I prefer you over all others.’ You know, if you believe that sort of thing.”

And there it was. Aziraphale’s coveted glow of love and adoration. 

And Crowley basked in it.


End file.
